私は前に死亡しないでください (Don't Die Before I Do)
by BrainTrauma
Summary: Meditation can lead to a higher plane of awareness, but Raphael never thought he would achieve it. When he does, he discovers Ninja, the trafficking club, owned by the Shredder. As he tells his findings to his family, Splinter admits to seeing the same place. The turtles make preparations to break in, but are unprepared to deal with the workings of the Dragon Families. RaphxOC


**Notes**: I am exploring the curious world of prejudice, shunning, psychological torture, and the effects all this has on a relationship.

This story has imperfect Japanese that I will try to keep to a minimum, but I want to use sparingly for the mind set of the reader.

I hope that the odd vocabulary does not throw anyone off too badly, that is a writing experiment to make myself use big words.

I own nothing except the story and the characters I created for the intent and purpose. I am warping parts of the turtles to mix and mesh their appearance and personalities from all versions, but mostly from 2003 adaptation and 2K14movie.

There may still be some minor mistakes, but I have ironed the story out to the best of my ability. Please enjoy.

**TMNT: 私は前に死亡しないでください (Don't Die Before I Do)**

**一 – Circus of the Foot**

Blood tastes like copper, thick like mucus, but more vital than water. Infuriating how small one feels when trapped with only that taste in their mouth. Unable to spit out the crimson color in the white soundless room, trapped by hallucinations so vivid that their voices echo. All too soon the taste becomes nothing, physical feeling numbs into blankness, and the hallucinations gain demons that rant and rave. Realty crashes into oblivion and hours turn into days and days into years. This is the ultimate torture for a member of the reptile species known commonly as a dragon: Sensory Deprivation.

Incapable of telling time in the white void, the young dragon remained still upon her chair. Arms lashed tightly to arm rests, with a heavy blanket securing her body temperature she could only hear inner demons. Doubt railed, Anger raged, and Helplessness screamed while the all-consuming white never broke.

Within minutes the auditory hallucinations began to skim the surface of the white. Horrible grotesque faces with horned bodies'and gruesome scars became solid. They crawled around the walls, snapped at one another, and lashed out at the captive observer. The creature's claws felt real: no marks would be found. The screams were so loud it felt like they were ripping out her inner ear: nothing would be recorded. The battles witnessed were so graphic that blood would be splattered across the wall: Once the door was open and the scenes would disappear.

None of the interactions were real.

Naturally, she knew this. Nevertheless, each time she entered the white void she would feel sick. Her insides always felt like melting gelatin, she would be unable to sleep for days, and the hallucinations would appear randomly. Their attacks hurt as vividly as if they were real, but the cool of water or the heat of another's hand would banish them back to the recesses of the mind.

Uncertain how long the events played in the soundless white void, there came a point when it was too much. She did not have a concept of when her brain clicked off into black nothingness, but recognized it when she was no longer seeing inner demons. In blackness of sleep she did not acknowledged pain. While neurons fired to keep her alive, they did not insist on any dream or nightmare. Apparently, the brain had its fill in the world of the waking.

The _'click'_ of a latch startled her in to waking and when the door opened, she was acutely aware of the many shades of grey in the dark hallway and the shine of the metallic armor. The smooth texture was so different from the matte white of the room and visually stimulating. The rush of sound from the outside world nearly made her dizzy. Every small noise was magnified and jarring in its strength. Every step the boots took forward was like a thunder and the scrape of the plates grinded together like gears. It almost hurt to hear such sounds because of how stark they were.

"It's time to leave." Announced the baritone of the Shredder, "Nine days have passed, and it is time for you to prepare to perform again."

She stared up at him through half lidded eyes. Sleep clawed at her, but the sharp snap of the leather straps provoked raw pain into her arms. The snap was only the noise; red blood welled up at the cuts on the forearms and the pain burned in a fantastic way. It was strange to feel after so long. The sensation was enough to convince her to get up with the blanket drawn tight around her shoulders and follow her captor out the door into the world noise.

Counting cracks in the walls may have been a waste of time, but the stimulation supplied an active brain exercise to stay awake. Raphael was convinced if he could keep himself conscious through meditation, he would be not be forced through another set of katas. He was also convinced that whomever invented meditation was laughing at him in the afterlife. After all, only a mad man would have been depraved enough to force his students to sit in silence trying to keep their minds empty without falling asleep.

Small bug crawled out from between a crack and the mutant turtle gritted his teeth. It scuttled around in circles…Raphael forced himself to close his eyes and start counting backwards. Bugs were fine, but the way the small beetle like insect scurried around made him certain it was a cockroach. Raphael hated cockroaches they made his skin crawl.

Without the visual stimulation of the crawling bug, the formication faded. With fading of one feeling came another the red masked turtle had been trying to avoid. Fatigue crawled up his spine and held fast. The warm buzzing sensation of sleep cuddled him close. He shook himself unnoticeably and tried to focus on something else.

To the mutant turtle's left was his dozing baby brother Michelangelo. He could Mikey's overly slow breathing and the lack of fidgeting that indicated he was awake. To his right was his perfectly meditating oldest brother Leonardo and Raphael bet if he moved too much, his older brother would accost him about it afterwards. Being stuck between them was not helping.

"Now, my sons," his father said abruptly, "Our meditation is complete. All except Michelangelo may be excused for the day."

Raphael opened his eyes and looked at the orange masked turtle that was leaning towards him, asleep. He nudged his juvenile brother who woke with a start.

"What?" The orange masked turtle peered around wildly before catching sight of his frowning father, "Damn it." He cursed smacking himself in the face.

Leonardo looked irritated with Mikey shaking his head.

Donatello chuckled softly, "Asleep again?" he asked.

"Shut up." Groaned Mikey.

The old grey rat motioned for his oldest three children to excuse themselves. His dark eyes were glaring at his youngest as he too, shook his head.

The three older brothers rose to their feet and excused themselves politely with a bow. The walked backwards until they reached the edge of the proclaimed dojo. One final bow and the brother proceeded out into their home.

"I think we need to help Mikey find a new meditation method." Donatello murmured to his elder two brothers.

"Very much so." Leonardo acquiesced back, "I think the hour and half we spend is Mikey's personal nap time."

"Knuckle head." Groaned Raphael shaking his head, "Is he stayin' up all night, playin' videagames?"

"No." Leo sighed, "I guess he's just not sleeping well. Change in the seasons, you know."

Raphael added his nod of agreement to his brothers'.

At the door of the 'lab' the trio separated from one another. Donatello, the second youngest of the four, would no doubt go spend hours on a new project in the lab. Leonardo, the oldest, would continue training with katas and then spend more time with Master Splinter. The red masked turtle knew these comforting and familiar patterns of behavior, but he had eyes only for his version of sanity.

The heavy bag hanging up in the corner called his name. It held the key to his real meditation. Two steps away from the bag, he began a barge of violent punches. Pent up energy from trying to obediently follow the rules of 'i' meditation and strict movements in katas made the initial attack a flurry of movement. However, with each hit stress melted from his shoulders and mind began to empty.

His movements became focused and more precise. His hands sought to be straight and powerful. His kicks were timed to use specific parts of his foot. Long practiced and new combinations came to his limbs and focused on making the proper pattern.

The force of gravity drawing the bag back to him became comforting as he learned the inertia of the bag. It always felt like the first time he worked out when he began. Some days it was easier to feel and understand the weight, other days it was a trial, but it never felt any less satisfying. In the subsequent moments of work, he found the pacification his body craved.

Unforeseen was the moment his mind hit a new plane of consciousness. It felt like his spirit fell through time and space into a very strange state. He could still feel the burn from the punches, the weight of the bag against his feet, but could neither hear nor see anything of his surroundings. He felt perfectly calm and briefly felt a strange stirring in his mind as if a question were knocking hesitantly on the door of his consciousness. But he had no desire to check the door and the sensation faded.

Images began drift past his sight. Like when he was racing past on his motorcycle, they were blurred and dark with splashes of color. Along the strange path his mind traveled, the whirl of colors began gaining clarity as each second pushed on. As if he were slowing down on his bike the blurs inaugurated showing fantastic detail. The loops in the carpet were nearly in a high definition and it was possible to see the sheer material overhead's weave. As he saw the way the material draped overhead he no longer could feel his workout and instead was aware of the warm breeze in the room and the silky texture of the carpet.

The darkened room had the distinct feeling of a strip club. The translucent fabrics that swathed the lights soften their glow. The fiercely glinting light of the glass beads that were woven through the room stole his attention. It felt very exotic, like being in a foreign country. As he walked through the room, he exited into a stadium of expensive posh raised seats around an immense arena.

Men and women of all origins sat upon the seats engrossed in the finishing performance. Their clothes were expensive name brands with lavish decoration. While women wore expensive jewels and metals, the men preferred silken ties and glistening rings. The lighting was dark, but the gold and red coloration of the room made it appear rather festive.

From the exotic to theatrical he entered into a world of high vaulted ceilings made to look like the inside of a tent. Wires crisscrossed high above the well-dressed crowd, platforms exhibited the performers in sparkly glimmering costumes, spotlights found their targets with meticulousness, and the music was lively, sensual, dark, and foreboding. The place smelled distinctly of perfume putting a haze of the exotic into the circus like atmosphere. Intoxicating this world of shadows, light, and sparkle put even the most beautiful painting to shame.

Hastily, the lights went out for a twinkling and the glimmering wires high above the crowd gained weight, bowing inward. Upon the iridescent wires appeared a curious sight. No need for sequins when the performer was as eye catching as any twinkling costume. The face appeared very human, but the eyes were large and dark. A pair of tall antelope like horns with branching fingers crowned the head, the hair a grey brown tightly woven back, and clothed in nothing but black, she stood tall and straight like a doll on a stand. A fleeting bow, then the lights went dark and she became illuminated in a distinct bright yellow florescent color.

Her performance made his brain swim. The manipulation of her painted body made him believe he saw other things, not the recitalist. He saw a story of outrageous gardens that made him long to walk through them, sadness in betrayal and love that seemed familiar, and what felt like dazzling display of the stars.

Then the lights slowly grew brighter and the entertainer bowed to stridently applauding spectators. She performed a minor magic trick and made a cloak appear before wrapping herself tightly in the fabric and jumping from the wire. A sharp inhale of breath from the audience was heard, but the fabric unfurled and ghosted to the ground with no performer in sight.

The dark material then leisurely rose from the ground and twisted tightly five turns. It burst apart and five new thespians in red and gold costumes jumped from the fabric to tremendous applause and began their act.

He was struck by the strangeness of each performer that continued through the show. Some of these people were clearly human, incredibly young and vulnerable, others could be called nearly human like the performer on the high wire, and yet others still told him they were indeed mutated from the mutagen he and his brothers were.

The young mutant turtle hit the point where he was becoming aware again of his home. He was ready turn away from such a strange vision until a shimmer of white caught his eye. Oroku Saki sat high above the rest of the business people in a theater box. His smile was broad and his fingers were pressed together.

Raphael's insides froze as he looked at the unusually pleased expression on the Shredder's face. Suddenly he knew something horrible; the Shredder was alive and in charge of this extravaganza. He had an impression that it was a charade of a circus and something worse was at hand. His heart clenched painfully as the hard won security, crumbled in fine powdered pieces.

The vision shattered as that feeling took over. As if he were peering in a window he was aware of punching the bag excruciatingly hard. The raw burn and pain made his insides twist and he heard Leonardo's anxious voice.

"Raph! You've got to stop!" he admonished, his voice desperate.

The red masked turtle felt the sweat on his body and the chill seeping into his form. The warmth of his brother's hands convinced him of his awareness. Without thinking, he caught the punching bag, steadying it. It was slick and he smelled the coppery scent before his mind registered the slick to be blood. His knuckles were raw and torn from his perpetual work, the tops of his feet burned fiercely, and his head had a dull throb. He blinked trying to ground himself in reality as he heard his brothers trying to get his attention.

"What?" he asked bewilderedly, "Sorry I zoned out." As he turned to face his worried family, he felt the complaint of his muscles in shoulders. They were stiff, overworked, and clamoring for relief.

At his father furtive staring, Raphael understood he had done something, but was not entirely sure what.

He could not find injuries on his siblings, or his father, but their expressions ranged from Donatello's pining worry to Leonardo's stern concern.

"Zoned out?" demanded Donatello carefully taking his hands, "Raph it's been hours! Like six hours of you punching the bag nonstop."

Raph blinked at his little brother, "What?" it did not seem like it was possible, but the ache in his muscles told him of the truth.

"We've been trying for the last hour to make you stop!" Mikey squeaked uncertainly, "You started bleeding real bad and…" he stopped staring openly at Raphael's hand.

"Oh." He answered feeling guilty relief that his brother's concern was because of his own blood and not theirs. He blinked several times staring as Don examined his self-inflicted injuries. Their noise of concern washed over in waves.

The sai user felt drunk or drugged. His mind felt heavy as his brothers ushered him to the bathroom. Walking took a great effort and he felt uncertain. The vision's clarity was breathtaking and foreboding. He was not sure if it was real, like the warm water raining over his sweat and blood slicked body. The body aches told him that his brother's helping hands were real, but he could not shake the feeling that the vision was more. He had never seen anything during his workouts.

In fact, his workout meditation was typically like what Leonardo said it should be. Mindful breathing that caused him no pain and left him feeling refreshed. Grant it, his father had mentioned it was possible to reach an astral plane, but said that if he were not being still, it was unlikely. Raphael could not reach his headspace of solitude when sitting, so he had never had an experience like this.

As he became more self aware, the clamor around him stopped being white noise and turned into conversation.

He felt himself stop drifting and heard Mikey's panic, "Is he okay? I'mean he's not gonna die right?"

"No. He is exhausted from all that training. But I'm not entirely sure what's going on." Donatello explained.

Raph's vision focused on his hands and recognized his younger brother's signature bandaging. His limbs hurt, but he rubbed his face and looked around himself. They were sitting in their father's room; Leonardo on his right, Donatello and Michelangelo on his left and his father directly before him.

"Raphael?" questioned the old rat.

His brothers went silent.

"Yes, Sensei?" he queried back, but his gaze wondered side to side in anxious worry.

"Are you grounded in this reality?" Splinter asked.

Raphael shrugged, "I guess?" he desperately wanted to look to his brother's for assistance, but did not dare.

"Good. We must have a conversation. I know you have heard and seen much. The dazed expression that has been on your face since you awoke from your vision tells me you have seen more than the bag you were working so vigorously." He paused eyeing his son, then continued, "It has taken you an additional two hours to come back to us."

"Er, sorry." He said automatically. He felt surprisingly childlike. Nervous and uncomfortable like he was guilty of skipping practice, "I'm fine now, I was just really fuckin' tired." One f-bomb and his brain switched neatly back into himself, "I'mean I guess I just was in my zone."

"It was more than that, my son." Assured Splinter, "The symptoms of mental exhaustion are the announcement of a strong vision. It takes a lot of emotional and, in your case, physical work to place you on this mental plane." He hesitated and waited for Raphael to protest. However, when he remained silent he continued speaking, "I believe you have seen something important."

Raph shrugged his shoulders, "I ain't sure how important what I saw was. It could have been my imagination."

"Does your imagination normally leave you so drained?" pressed Splinter.

Raphael thought for a moment, "I don't normally use it. It could."

Splinter's gazed remained steady, "Raphael, tell your brothers and I about what you have seen."

Compelled to obey through his father's hard gaze, the red masked turtle felt embarrassed as he began with the opening of his revelation. Slowly he gained confidence as he tuned out his listeners and tried to focus on the sensations and details he had witnessed. As he revisited each scene it truly felt like he was telling a story about a implausible circus. He hesitated at the final act trying to recall how he came to notice the Shredder's presence.

"Are you finished, my son?" question the old rat.

The sai user shook his head, "Havin' trouble findin' words." He frowned thinking.

"Then take your time." Encouraged Splinter patiently.

The words came out slowly as his mind tried to focus on what was going on, "I think… I think part of my subconscious musta known you were callin' me." He glared thoughtfully at a spot on the tatami mats. His mouth rambled in comforting New York accented sounds, "I was beginnin' ta feel my hands connectin' with da bag when I had ta distinct impression I needed ta turn 'round." He looked up at his master, "…An' I saw the Shredder."

The worry etched itself upon his father's face.

He stared back down feeling somehow relieved that he was causing worry. "I knew the bastard was dead, but when I saw him… Shit! I felt certain he was real and in charge of what I was seen. It scared the fuck outta me." He stopped, "That was the only time it felt less like a strange imaginary dream and reality, but uh, yeah. That's what I saw." He shook his head,

"The Shredder?" gaped Leo.

Raph looked at him, "I know right? If the fuckin' thing was true-"-Master Splinter briefly snapped, "_Language, Raphael!"-_ "Uh, sorry Sensei. But if it's true then he's been hiding out fer a while."

"I hope that's not true." Michelangelo groaned, "I'mean we shellacked him over and over! Can't he just- I don't know…quit?"

"Since when does the Shredder give up?" Leo said darkly, "If there is one word to describe him, it's _persistent_."

"Don't use big words around Mikey. Ya know he can't handle em'." Teased Raph trying to lighten the mood.

"Hey!" But there was no hostility in Mikey's eyes.

Don and Leo chuckled appreciatively. Clearly the tension was getting to them too.

Nevertheless, the four turtles looked up at their father and teacher, noticing that he was focused on his long fingered hands. Their playful smiles fell.

Leo leaned forward, "Sensei?"

The rat exhaled slowly before informing his children, "I am… happy and sad that you too… have seen a similar vision, Raphael."

The red masked turtle felt like ice water had been poured over him.

"For two months now I too have seen the same place you speak of: Although, I have seen more of the performers than you. I have seen the brutality inflicted upon them, and know of their suffering." He sighed, "I have seen others like us. For a while now, I have had doubts of what I have seen. I have meditated daily and seen more and more. I was convinced that I must have been adding to the story." He stopped.

For several minutes he stared at the mats, still as a stone.

To Raphael, he looked like an island in the waves of tension. He was unable to stop staring at his father and unable to stop feeling grateful that perhaps he had seen something real.

"I have no proof other than images from my mind, and now Raphael's." began Splinter, "But I feel as if we have missed the Shredder, yet again." He turned to his most intelligent child, "Donatello, will you assist me? I wish to discover if this place exists."

"Yeah, sure. If it's real, I promise I'll find it." Agreed the violet masked turtle.

"Very good." Nodded the rat, "Leonardo, Michelangelo, help Raphael to bed. His spiritual self has been taxed mightily and must be allowed to recover."

"I'm alrigh'." Raphael grinned, "I can walk myself." And as he moved to stand found his muscles weary and wobbly. Instantly his brothers were on either side of him, supporting his fatigued body.

"Yer a bad liar, Raphie-boy." Mikey grinned.

"We're not about to let you walk back to room alone anyway." Leo added sternly, "You over did it, big time. If you don't take it easy for the next two days or so, you could seriously hurt yourself."

Don nodded vigorously, "Tomorrow you will exceptionally sore. You'll need ice and heat to keep the swelling down."

"Swelling?" blinked Raphael.

"You tore muscles in your shoulders and might have in your legs. It'll be a slow healing process, but you gotta ice it off and on." Advised Don shoving his glasses up from his beak.

"As if being cold-blooded didn't suck enough." Groaned Raph.

"Ha ha! It'll be okay Raph!" beamed Mikey, "We ain't gonna stick you in an ice bath."

Leo gently nudged his wobbly younger brother forward, "Not helpful Mikey."

The orange masked turtle adjusted his grip and moved with his brothers, "What? I'm just sayin', that he's got nuthin' to worry about."

As they left their father's room Raph rolled his eyes and droned sarcastically, "With you as a caregiver? Nahhh, I got nuthin' to worry about."

"What? I can be a great nurse!" beamed the enthusiastic turtle, "I can change your bandages, read you comic books, fluff your pillows-"

Raph looked at his big brother, "If it's all the same ta you, I'd rather have Donnie lookin' after me." He did not keep the plea from his voice. Michelangelo had many redeeming qualities; nursing was not one of them.

Leo grinned at him, "Don't worry, nobody trusts Mikey with this sorta stuff."

"HEY!" shouted their littlest brother with pouting lips, "I'm right here!"

Donatello sat back in his chair. He was impressed, surprised, confused, and amazed. Really, how did the mind achieve such fantastic wonders? Both his older brother and Father had tapped into the same place. With the information he gathered from his father, he eventually located the exclusive club.

At first, he had taken it for an office building or, if a club, an exclusive club for bored rich business executives. The blue prints he extracted made him confused and as he checked its location he was perplexed. Four blocks away from their lair there was no such building. _Maybe this was an old thing that had already happened_?

The accounting records assured him that it was a present threat and still in business. He left the location alone for a while and worked through the accounting reports. _Maybe the address he found was a decoy_?

With careful prodding he found the heinous world of the black market's "Ninja" (_your dirtiest secrets are safe with us). _Ninja was advertised as some sort of gentleman's club, but as he carefully picked his way across the server, he realized it was more of an underground market in trading people.

The reason he established it as a 'people' trading palace were the variety of peoples on offer. Everything from human children and teenagers to the impossible, Chelonii who were just like him and his brothers were being auctioned off. He found records of the key performers who were not for sale. He considered the beings to be part of the Shredder's inner circle, until he saw who they were.

After all the many things he had seen he never discounted the dragon species existence. He had met some, but they were nothing like the alleged ones he found under the Shredder's thumb. Stuck in an in between form they could not hide among the human race or their own species. Their faces were sometimes more beastlike, other times they were human. The beings were all empty eyed and without expression. It was hard to believe Saki had managed to keep these creatures captive.

Don continued through the people, when the image of a woman fudgelling on the balance beam caught his attention. If Raphael had not described her hours before, he would not have taken any special notice. But, sitting idly on the balance beam was an unimportant figure with antelope like horns. She was sporting a leotard and shorts with her back facing the photographer. Her vertebrae protruded out like the spines of a lizard making the structure of her spine jump out. There was no identifying name, only the description of her job.

He printed the particular person out to show to his older brother when he awoke. A few last confirmation of the place's location explained why it was not an office building and how it could be four blocks away. He stood and went to tell his father of his conclusions.

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><p>Please leave constructive criticism, comments, and please watch for updates! Thank you!<p> 


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